Bruised
by coffeeandcigarettes
Summary: Sam still remembers...


a/n: this story is pretty heavy and it's also my first attempt to write sam/kurt, even though i've been shipping them from the beginning. i guess i have to throw in the fact that i don't own glee. reviews (including constructive criticism) are very much welcome & appreciated. thank you for reading, if you stick to the end! :)

**BRUISED**

Sam still remembers pretty clearly how he felt when he first realized he was gay at the age of fifteen. It wasn't a guess at that point, there was no more wondering why he spent most of his time fantasizing about men, why he just _couldn't_ get off to Angelina Jolie when Brad Pitt was standing right next to her or any other questions he asked himself involving sexual desires or even just relationship desires, but it was a solution to fit the situation. Sam Evans doesn't cry very often, but when he realized he was gay, his stomach sank to the bottom of his body, dragging his heart down with it and he bawled. It hadn't been tears of relief or tears of joy to finally have found himself – no, it was tears of intense guilt and shame, because he knew, even at the age of fifteen, that his life would suck at home for that exact reason, and that not a single soul in his family would accept him, nor would the rest of the world.

But about a year later, his father, or whatever people call those things nowadays, found out. Sam doesn't really have any idea how it could have happened and for the life of him, he can't remember the explanation his father gave him. It must have gotten lost between the four times his father struck him across the face with his fist, the three times he was pushed into the wall, and somewhere between seven and fifteen death threats equipped with over at least twenty homophobic names and remarks (what else could he do but count when he couldn't see two feet in front of him, as the blood from his head poured into his eye?). He remembers that the grand finale was an informal disownment and a final shove into the wall, which made a distinct dent and a small crack in the drywall. A few moments later, after he had made it to his bedroom without falling over, he heard his father yelling at his mother. He listened to their match as he desperately tried to claw away at the drying blood, choking back the tears that were bubbling up in his chest. It was something to do with two options: send him off to a Jesus Camp in Utah, that tried to pray the gay out of you, or just continue to beat the gay out of his own son (and save some money in the process). Sam doesn't like to jump to conclusions, because he feels like it's pretty unfair, but he was pretty sure that as she drank her glass of red wine, mixed with tears, that she said to continue the beating, because they couldn't afford anything else. Or maybe she really did care and want to send him off, but regardless, she was obviously over-ruled if that was the case, because the same events happened the next night.

Sam generally thinks of himself as lucky, for not having to endure it every single night. More often than not, he eats supper normally (if total silence is normal), then goes up to bed and nothing happens in between the two events. There are other times, of course, which makes up for the lost nights. There were always times where he had to try and keep himself awake after it was all over, just to make sure he was still breathing. Sam sometimes wished that his father could really beat the gay out of him, because he never really wanted it in him anyway.

He switches over to McKinley High, when his father demands that he be removed from Dalton Academy, the all boys' school. His father likes to claim that the school helped him _become_ gay (and as much as Sam doesn't want to believe that he 'became' gay, his father really drills that into his head). McKinley High is a pretty lame public school, but he likes it, because it gives him a chance to hide out a little more, practice being 'normal' so his father wouldn't beat on him so much. He even hopes that if he makes himself _look_ better or makes himself a better fit for football (by maybe obsessing a little too much), his father would see that he was normal (but, he didn't even notice, which made Sam even more determined). He didn't think that the public school would be harder than the all boys' school – but it is, because with Kurt Hummel around, he gets weak in the knees (he was sure Kurt was an angel of some sort) and _god_ Noah Puckerman could give his daydream of Brad Pitt fucking him from behind a serious run for his money. It doesn't matter how hard he tries to push the thoughts out of his head, how hard he tries to avoid looking Kurt's way (even if that means he has to pretend to be straight), it doesn't work. It was like his father could read his mind too, because the days where those thoughts were bad enough for his jeans to feel a little too tight, were the nights that were always the worst.

When his father dies a few months after enrolling at McKinley High, Sam is in the middle of taking a Spanish test (which, by the luck of the Gods, he was totally failing). His mother cries on his shoulder at the hospital, as they sit in the private family room, waiting for the details. Sam assumes that she believes that somehow everything that has happened in the past few years was to be forgotten and brushed aside in a moment like this, but Sam can't forget. He begins to really think about his father and he isn't sure if he hates him or if he just doesn't care about him. He wonders, if it was a little of both, and then he reminds himself that it's really just a lot of both.

Regardless, when the funeral comes, his mother expects him to get up on the stage and speak in front of a hundred or so people, people that thought they knew his father. His mother instructs him to tell stories, but he wonders why he has to come up bullshit stories that he is just going to have to pull out his ass. So, he pretends to freeze on the stage, scrounging up any words he can, as he fake stutters over a few before going silent. And people don't question it because, "poor dear lost his father, how devastating".

The funeral is exhausting and after he gets his mother to sleep on the couch and covers her with a blanket and recycles the, once full, bottle of wine, he lets his feet carry him around the house, taking note of the places where his father tried to make him straight. Sam realizes that the man is embedded in the walls. He notices as he walks around, that there was no real evidence that there is a son living in the house, especially one that amounted to anything. There had been a place on the wall that held his most current school picture, but it had to be taken down, because when his father had shoved him into the wall a few weeks ago, it fell and crashed onto the floor, sending the glass in fifty different directions. He is willing to bet that there were still pieces tucked in the corners.

He begins fumbling around the drawers, trying to find pictures and evidence of his existence and as he reaches the bottom of the junk drawer, his hand grasps a frame at the bottom. He bets that his mother hid it there, not wanting it around but not wanting to get rid of it completely either. Sam still thinks that she has a place for him somewhere in her heart, but he reminds himself that it's probably not big enough to fit the gay part of him in it. He picks the picture up and runs his fingers along the frame as looks at the people staring back at him –some form of his father, before he knew that his son was gay, and Sam, who was being safe and hiding out in _Narnia_ for the time being. It was the two of them at one of Sam's football games when he was still at Dalton Academy, his father's arms were draped over his shoulders. He couldn't read their faces, because nothing real was written on them.

He carries the picture and the frame with him and he's not sure why. But, he returns to school, which he hadn't been scheduled to return to for another week. Sam thinks that everyone figures he's still in shock and that even though _he_ thinks he's fine, he'll crash later. Sam isn't sure about that, but he pretends to accepts the apologies, even though he doesn't really take them in (to avoid questions), and by noon, he's storming out of the school because he can't keep taking the apologies, can't keep taking the pity for a man who beat him and never knew him or appreciated him in the slightest.

Sam breathes heavy once he reaches his car, leaning against it for extra support as he closes his eyes and tries to calm down. When he can't seem to catch his breath, he instead kicks his wheel and punches the window of the driver's side. He's about to go for another punch, hoping to break his knuckle so he can continue the punishment his father is probably wishing he got to finish, when a hand firmly grasps his arm, stopping it from contacting the glass.

Sam is ready to rip his arm away and take out whoever had their arm on him (he reminds himself that then he'd be just like his father), but then his eyes land on Kurt, who's got a lot more strength than he expects, as his arm is still firmly clasped in Kurt's seemingly gentle hand.

"Sam," is all Kurt has to say before Sam collapses, his arm is let free from Kurt's grasp as he leans against his car and slides down, feeling the hot asphalt underneath him and the uncomfortable gravel stones. Sam isn't supposed to be doing this, isn't supposed to be breaking apart at his seems in the McKinley High parking lot, in front of Kurt, whom he adores and can't stop thinking about.

Kurt follows Sam to the ground, ignoring the dirty ground, even though Sam is sure he is wearing a new pair of pants, and offers up a small sigh. "Sam?"

Sam looks down, violently wiping away the tears that are falling down his cheeks, because he's not crying over the bastard. At least, he really doesn't want to. "It's nothing."

Kurt offers up one of his famous slow nods, the ones where he knows you're lying and the one where he wants to say more, but isn't sure he should. "You can talk to me, Sam," he says in a whisper, almost like he knows Sam's story already, but wants to give him the chance to speak up (that sort of freaks Sam out – was he that readable?).

And then Sam starts blubbering, vomiting his heart up to Kurt, just because he is the first person who has ever actually told him that he can talk, that for once, someone is going to listen and hang off every word, regardless of how hopeless Sam sounds. Sam even pulls out the picture, which is buried at the bottom of his backpack. It's slightly scratched and ruined from how many times he slams his bag down on the ground at the beginning of class.

Kurt doesn't say anything, but he takes the picture and looks deeply into it, because that's what Kurt does. He's not ridiculously mushy and he's not fake – he's Kurt and he will always be Kurt for that reason. No bullshit sorry's and no bullshit lies about how life is full of flowers and love. It's a tough fucking life and though Kurt has never had to endure being beat by his own father, the kid knows that it's shitty and he knows how lonely Sam feels.

Suddenly, Kurt is standing up and offering a hand out to Sam, and then somehow, he's dragging him into his car, driving off to the only bridge in Lima, which overlooks the Lima River. When Kurt stops the car, he pulls the picture out of his jacket and hands it to Sam.

"What do you want to do with him? You can keep him in your backpack forever, carry him around with you until you die, or you can get rid of him."

Sam looks up at Kurt, his features soft and subtle in the high sun, his hair perfectly held by the hairspray Sam watches him apply at every chance he gets. At this moment, he's completely positive that Kurt is an angel. Or some form of a savior.

Sam doesn't think twice before turning around and slamming the picture to the hard concrete, watching the glass shatter into what seems like a billion pieces – every piece representing everything about his father that he hated. Breaking apart his father, just like his father had done to him. He feels his cheeks burning as he picks up the picture inside the frame, un-affected by the concrete and shattering of glass. He fishes in his jacket, finding the cheap one dollar lighter he had gotten for the funeral to light the candles surrounding his father's picture. He faces Kurt again and flicks the lighter and watches it ignite. He puts the picture and flame together and he and Kurt watch as the flame eats away at the picture, until he can no longer hold it in between his fingers.

Sam looks back up at Kurt, as the picture of the two people he hates disappears into a pile of ash, and he freely lets his tears go, because there is no one here to judge him for crying, and no one here to judge him for being Sam. He doesn't say anything, because he knows Kurt understands – it's freedom. Sam offers up some form of a smile, which he is sure looks pretty mangled and twisted, but it's a smile and the first real smile in a long fucking time. He shrugs his shoulders, trying his best to brush off the event, but then, before he collapses into Kurt's arms and buries his wet face into his neck, he realizes that he doesn't have to brush off the event, because no one is here. He is Sam Evans, and he's fucking free.


End file.
